


You Ask Your Hands To Bleed

by edenbound



Series: If We Wake To Discover [Crowley and Aziraphale raise Adam] [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 15:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenbound/pseuds/edenbound
Summary: When he's about seven, Adam asks Crowley a question he's been dreading:"Dad? What did you do that was so bad, to become a demon?"





	You Ask Your Hands To Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set in the middle of 'If We Wake To Discover', and before Our Time In Eden; Aziraphale and Crowley are not romantically together yet, and Adam is around seven years old. Though Crowley is genderfluid in this series, in this installment he's male throughout, so I haven't tagged it as such. You probably need to read 'If We Wake To Discover' first to know exactly what's going on here.
> 
> Title is, as usual, from '[Eden](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/10000maniacs/eden.html)', by 10,000 Maniacs. [Lyrics](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/10000maniacs/eden.html); [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OB0C2g7851U).

The question first arises when Adam is seven years old. He is grubby from the park, slightly sunburned across his cheekbones, and entirely satisfied with his summer holiday. It's the end of a long day, but because he is Adam and he is essentially a small boy, he wants to keep on poking things with sticks. Metaphorically speaking. Crowley is half-drowsing on the sofa, and Adam comes over and shoves one of Crowley's legs out of the way so he can sit down. "Dad?"

Crowley cracks one eye open. "Yeah?"

"What did you do, to be a demon?"

And Crowley is abruptly awake, nausea twisting in his gut. He draws himself up, sitting up straight on the sofa. "What?" he asks, to gain time, yawning an entirely fictional yawn. Adam's eyes are on him, almost unblinking.

"Why did you Fall?"

Crowley puts his hands in his lap, palms flat against his thighs. He hates this. Every time, he hates this. "I don't really know," he says, honestly, because he has always been honest with his children. All of them, even and especially this one. "I didn't think I was doing anything bad. I talked to a lot of people, and asked a lot of questions. And it turned out that some of the people who later became demons had the most interesting answers, or wanted to ask questions too. And... one day, it just happened."

Adam crosses his arms. "Nobody gets in trouble for asking _questions_, Dad."

"I did."

"But... demons have to have done really bad things!"

"I have," Crowley says, his chest and throat horribly tight, "but only since I became a demon. As far as I know, anyway."

"You must have done something bad!" 

"I didn't -- I didn't mean to, if I did. Adam..."

"You must know what you did," Adam persists. He isn't running away yet, and in fact his face remains mostly _curiosity_. He doesn't know he's being cruel; a child's cruelty, this, unknowing about how much these things can hurt, unknowing that some people, some things, are so damaged that they can barely withstand a touch. Crowley swallows hard.

"I don't know, Adam. I can't tell you anything more than that, because I don't know."

Adam considers that for a moment. "Will _Dad_ tell me what you did?"

"If he does, you can tell me," Crowley says, with far too much bite, and then takes another deep breath. "Adam..."

"I'm going to go to my room now," Adam says, and is somehow gone before Crowley can find another word to say. He doesn't think the look on Adam's face was fear, but he's not sure, and that idea terrifies _him_.

He is still sat there, palms on his thighs, trying to breathe, when Aziraphale returns. The angel stops in the doorway, frowning. "Crowley?" he asks. "What happened?"

The attempt at a nonchalent shrug is entirely wooden. "Adam wants to know what I did. To become a demon."

"Ah," Aziraphale says. "Do you want to be alone? I don't think drinking is a very viable choice right now, but -- Crowley, are you -- I'm sorry, I don't want to draw attention to this if it will embarrass you, but I do think you're crying, and I'd like to, well, do something?" 

He _is_ crying, and hadn't known it until now. He catches in a breath of air and it sounds like a sob, and then Aziraphale moves and is with him, wrapping his arms around him as he has done only _once_ before. Crowley can't help it; he leans into it, sees himself for a moment as a flower turning toward the sun (and remembers himself to be a weed, unwanted, surplus to requirements and in fact crowding out the good, crowding out what _should_ be). Aziraphale's arms are firm around him.

"My dear," Aziraphale says, gently. "You knew this was coming. It was bound to happen sometime, since you persist in telling them what you are."

"It always does. That doesn't mean it doesn't..."

"I know." 

Aziraphale moves his palm over Crowley's back in little circles, and Crowley lets another jagged sob tear out of him, lets his face lean into Aziraphale's shoulder. It's not just what Adam said -- that was a fairly good reaction, as reactions go. It's only that this happens every time, and every time he has to wait and wonder if it will be like another Fall. If things will ever be as they were again, or if what he is -- what he did once, unknowingly, so long ago -- has left him once more unforgiven, unforgivable.

"You're not, you know," Aziraphale says, in that same gentle voice, somehow knowing Crowley's exact thought. "You're not unforgivable. I forgive you."

Crowley raises his face, tear-streaked and strained. "You can't."

"Nobody ever put limits on what I am allowed to forgive, my dear. And Adam will forgive you, too. Won't you, Adam?" he asks, looking up. Crowley barely dares to look, but there he is, there's Adam, watching them. Crowley drags in a breath.

"Will you?" he asks.

"You're my _dad_," Adam says, like that's answer enough, and wipes his nose on his sleeve. He may, perhaps, have been crying as well. Aziraphale doesn't even wince, despite his usual attempts to be firm about the subject of handkerchiefs. He holds a hand out to Adam.

"You see?" he says, to Crowley, who cannot really mind an _I told you so_ so terribly much when Adam is crowding close, climbing into his lap even though he's too big for it, and wrapping his arms around Crowley in a tight hug.

Every time, something like this happens, and sometimes Crowley is left sat alone, terribly alone, knowing that he can do no good in the world, that he is entirely lost and unwanted and, in short, superfluous to all requirements. But sometimes, sometimes he gets to have this. And this time -- this time he has Aziraphale, too, with him every step of the way.


End file.
